


puzzle

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Engagement, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance, Slash, Smut, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve tries to propose, he realises it doesn't always work first time, (or the second), and that in situations like these, his boyfriend will say the unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	puzzle

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. 
> 
> And this is fluffier and yet more serious than I'd intended. I don't know if this is a good or bad thing.

Proposing isn’t as easy as Steve thinks.

The ring feels strangely heavy between his fingers—which is not from the material he’s used, Vibranium, the whole band glowing blue from the infusion of a clean sours of energy Tony had created, and with the help of Bruce, here it is—and he wonders if now is the right time to step up to the next level, flipping it across his palm.

He’s planned it for months now, so of course he feels ready, but will he have the same attitude once he’s on one knee, saying those words that he cannot think about. He loves Tony, has for the five years they’ve been together, from the thrill of new adventures and excitement for what lies ahead, and when he thinks of a wedding, small and private, with only friends and family, his heart skitters in his chest and the breath catches in his throat because he wants that image to be real. And it’s silly, ridiculous belief of fate, the very thing Tony scoffs over, but they’re meant to be a couple, like twin flames; he’s never felt this way before, and maybe the spiritual aspect is a weak thing to have faith in, but it’s true.

And it’s why he finds the courage to find Tony in the kitchen, and wrap his arms around him from the back. “Should you really be drinking at this time?”

_That’s it, Steve, nice and easy—one step at a time._

“It helps me think,” Tony shrugs, leaning back on Steve’s chest. “I don’t comment on your inhuman need to run five miles at four in the morning, seriously, I know your legs are basically trees and your stamina is that of five heavy weight champions combined—”

“You’re commenting on it right now.”

“Point.” Tony lifts his glass. “Want some?”

Steve wrinkles his nose at the strong smell of scotch. “No, thanks—I came down here to ask you something.”

And the answer isn’t something he expects. Tony stiffens. Steve can feel it against his chest, the length of Tony’s spine straightening out, rigid, his fingers tightening around the glass. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve echoes, unsurely. “It’s kind of important.”

“Ah, well, I’d love to stay and hear what it is, but could I get a rain check? Suits to fix, coffee to drink, that sort of thing.”

Frowning, “Uh, I guess—”

Tony extracts himself from Steve’s grip, before he even finishes the sentence, almost bolting down the stairs, his drink forgotten. He resists the urge to follow and ask what the hell just happened, but that’ll make the situation more awkward. He obviously doesn’t want to speak now—weird, considering he never stops talking yet from the quick switch of moods unfortunately settles Steve’s confusion—but he dismisses it, as Tony is a busy guy, and it’s better for him to go ahead and work, rather than stress about it all day.

It’s not like he’s surprised by Tony’s departure. The number of times is countless where they’ve been talking, or having dinner, or dealing with their own sort of business in the evening, Steve will see the distant look in his eyes, and knows he’s trying to figure out some equations or draw out the new blueprints of a suit. Although Steve isn’t happy about it, he isn’t mad; in fact, once he’s seen those ideas constructed and perfected into completion, into the vision Tony has, he feels overwhelmed with satisfaction and a swell in his chest that Tony has achieved yet another challenge. Next to creating a new element in an hour, over fifty suits, and breaking into the Mandarin’s house with pure mind and skill alone, makes Steve’s own accomplishments look small.

Of course, Tony confines him otherwise—tells him, whenever he can, that Steve is brilliant, until he stops shying away or trying to brush off the complements, and he does it well, Steve has to admit. And sometimes, Tony doesn’t even need to say, but it’s in his movements as his hands skim over Steve’s skin, in his kisses as he peppers them down his back, and how he’ll say he loves him, which isn’t a frequent occasion, but that doesn’t make it any less meaningful. It make it more, if anything.

He sighs, pocketing the ring again. _Another time, then._

* * *

“Steve— _oh, shit._ ”

Hands scramble to fist the sheets, Tony’s back arching to meet Steve’s shallow thrusts, his legs tightening around his waist. It’s only now, on the brink of orgasm, that he grows vocal—more than usual—with sweat causing his dark hair to cling to his forehead, his knuckles pale white from the strength of his hold, and with each chant of Steve’s name, from the soft, whispered plea to an urgent cry, sends a shudder down Steve’s spine, pushing him closer to his own release.

And it happens sooner than expected, the knot in his stomach pulsing as white spots flash behind his eyelids. A shiver racks his body, down to the bones, and the bite on his lips doesn’t hold back the groan, increasingly louder as Tony follows, his nails digging into Steve’s back as he lifts off the bed, the sensations speaking volumes.

Leaning down, Steve kisses him, slowly, as if absorbing the last aftershocks of electric and heat from his body. He doesn’t feel weak, not in the slightest, even after several rounds of lovemaking, but from the looks of it, Tony is completely drained, sinking back into the pillows. Not the same exhausted way he does after tinkering for hours straight, where he’ll barely manage to stand or form sentences, let alone words, but a mellow, warm buzz like a simmering fire licking at the last pieces of wood, about to fade out. And that’s a pretty good sign.

He idly rubs circles on Tony’s hips, traces the few scars that are scattered over rough skin, and he feels the confidence returning for a second attempt. It’s not the best setting, but it has to be better than his previous try. Maybe tonight will have a different outcome, now that there’re no distractions, or interruptions from the team to suit up and battle aliens in New York or California, even London. It’s extremely suitable for a proposal, actually, from how relaxed the atmosphere is—how much Tony is relaxed—the stress melting away, and the kinks in his muscles unravelling—and in this kind of aftermath, makes the question less daunting to ask.

Running his fingers through Tony’s hair, drawing out a hum, Steve takes it as the signal to make a move. “It’s our anniversary soon.”

“Is it?” Tony says, fighting off a yawn. “It’s four months away.”

Steve swallows. “That’s soon.”

Lifting up so his chin rests on Steve’s chest, Tony peeks up at him through his lashes. “You haven’t bought a gift already have you? You’re breaking the no gifts agreement—”

“Gifts agreement? What gifts agreement?”

He rolls his eyes. “The one I just invented, Steve. What happened to fair play?”

“It’s not exactly fair if you’re making up rules.”

Tony shrugs, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Worth a shot.”

“You almost succeeded.” Tugging tony up so they’re level, Steve crushes his lips to his, mustering all the passion and love he can put into a single kiss, and forces himself to pull away, ignoring the whimper of loss. “I do have something to give you—nothing to do with anniversaries.”

And it happens again.

He turns to stone, his lips stilling, and the knots tying themselves back up in his limbs. Only this time Steve can see the widen in his eyes, the flash of something akin to shock lighting his gaze, and the smile dispersing from his face.

It causes Steve’s chest to tighten—horribly tight, as if he’s been hit by his shield or received a solid kick to the gut by Hulk—and all that confidence he’s gathered, all the positivity he’s found, disappears with just the one look. He knows, he must know, or else he never would have dropped into this fear from the power of suggestion alone, before he even hears what Steve has to say. And that hurts, to now hold this knowledge that Tony doesn’t want marriage, doesn’t want marriage with him.

Tony swallows, a thick bob of his throat. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Steve answers. “It’s nothing.”

And it isn’t. Not anymore.

* * *

“Do you love me?”

It’s the first thing he says when he walks into Tony’s workshop, and okay, he hadn’t been planning for those words to come out of his mouth at all, but weeks have passed since his decision on whether or not he should cross out marriage.

Sitting down and gradually easing into the subject of getting married is the more appealing way, but the ring in his pocket grows heavier and weighs him down, and not understanding why they’ve hit a wall is becoming unbearable, drives him mad. It results in the reaction he’s been expecting—a crinkle lining Tony’s brow, mouth parted and running a hand through his hair—the three actions he does when he’s completely lost, and in that moment Steve regrets saying anything, because he can see where this is going, in the direction he wants to avoid.

Tony answers before he can change the topic. “Why—Steve, of course I do, what kind of question is that?”

“Because,” he starts, and as he’s already in, there’s no point in stopping, “you know, don’t you? About me proposing?”

For the third time, he stiffens. “Well, technically—”

“Do you, or do you not?”

“Yes.” He looks down at his hands, slick with grease. “I do.”

“So you’ll know why you keep acting this way when I try and ask you, right?”

Nodding, Tony wipes his hands on a dirty rag, and it hurts, to feel so much distance when only a touch away. “Is it compulsory to answer?”

He doesn’t know if he should step forward. He wants to, badly, to run over and take him into his arms, but it’s impossible to function. The last thing he wants is for Tony to think everything’s okay, that this can all be dusted under the rug, and they’ll carry on with their lives as normal—they wake up, eat breakfast, Tony works, Steve runs and reads the newspaper, they’ll watch a movie, Steve will cook for them, they’ll make love, and then they’ll drift off into slumber, repeating the cycle again.

And it’s not that Steve doesn’t like the cycle, he does, but by introducing marriage, it starts a new chapter of their lives. It can involve all the other chapters of their story, as honeymoons, or children, the great things in life. Tony is the one who’d welcomed him into this century, taught him the wonder of the internet and phones, and helped him adjust to this new world he’d woken up in, so he wants to explore more, because since leaving the 1940’s and falling into somewhere that had made him feel lost. Now, it isn’t so bad, isn’t so utterly confusing that he no longer isolates himself, and though he hasn’t forgotten his own time, or Peggy, the Howling Commandos, Howard or Bucky, he isn’t unfamiliar with this time anymore, understands it and feels he does have presence. That, oddly, he belongs here, with Tony.

“No,” Steve says, sighing. “But I wouldn’t mind one.”

Tony slumps onto the bonnet of a car, head bowed and rubbing his hand over his face, before finally answering, though it looks as if he’s suffering with internal struggles as forces out, “You don’t want marriage—”

“Yes, I do—”

“—with me, Steve.”

“What?” _That_ isn’t the answer he’s been expecting. “Of course I do! I just—why would you think that?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t promise you a life of happiness, because in a few years, I won’t have one to share it with.”

Steve takes an involuntary step forward, completely cancelling out his plan to comfort him, but as soon as those words reach his ears, they ring and vibrate and shake against his skull. His voice is quiet, choking out a reply past a dry, clenched throat. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Tony.”

“Why?” Tony snaps. “It’s true. I’m forty-nine, Steve!”

“So? What does that have to do with this?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a frustrated sigh. “I don’t have the capability to keep up with you, in all ways, whether it’s sexually or physically in general—I’m old, Steve. Soon, I’m going to be a pensioner, the kind of people you help cross the street!”

“Tony—”

“I can only manage three rounds of sex before I’m exhausted. I sleep more—me, Steve, I Tony Stark, sleeps for more than five hours. Wrinkles are going to sprout all over my body, my hair is already greying, and I swear a few weeks ago my knees locked up from what I hate to think is early arthritis. And from the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed over my life, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had less than—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—twenty years.” His face is twisted. “It’s going to happen, Steve, long before I would want it to. And you? You’ll be exactly the same.”

Steve shakes his head, crossing the distance between them and surging into a kiss, his hands coming up to cradle Tony’s face—as if he’s so fragile the wrong word can shatter him—and it’s true, the expression he wears as Steve pulls away confirms it. He’s so pained by these thoughts that must have been whirling through his head every day, as early as when they first became a couple.

His breathing hard and is a little light-headed, but he doesn’t care. “I want you to listen to me, Tony.”

“Steve, look, I don’t want to go into this.”

“Neither do I, but I have to—”

“C’mon, don’t kick a man while he’s down.”

“I’m saying it whether you like it or not.” He strokes his thumb over Tony’s cheek. “I’m in love with you.”

Tony tries to force his gaze away. “I—”

“The sex? I don’t need it to feel happy in this relationship. It's good, sure, but I'm not going to bolt out the nearest exit because of it because that's not what we have as a basis,” Steve continues, “and getting old? That doesn’t bother me, if you go bald or I have to carry you around. Yes, you have a few grey hairs—"

 _"You're not supposed to agree with me!_ "

Steve ignores him. "I want us to have a future together, however long that is, to be the guy that cares for you, makes love you to everyday, and is your last kiss at night. If the worse comes, which it won’t, but if it ever did, I’d want you to be my husband when it happens. I need you as much as you need me, so you're insane if you think I'd ever abandon, take advantage, or change the way I feel about you and anything else you're thinking of. Alright? You mean the world to me, Tony, more than what I can express into words, so this is one way I know how."

Silence follows his words, until the unusual happens and Tony throw himself at Steve, his arms wound tight around him, face tucked into the crook of his neck. “Y’know,” he murmurs, “I never thought I’d find someone like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love. Real love." It's quiet, hesitated. "The kind where I’m happy to wake up next to you, when you let me ramble on about dynamics and water resistant materials, and every time I look at you my arc-reactor start malfunctioning and I have to restart it. D’you know what it feels like when you have to restart your heart just after the shrapnel inched close to your heart? It’s painful, but a good painful—and maybe this is a bad, screwed up analogy—but a heart can be broken, but still it works, can be fixed, even with the rough edges and chipped pieces, like a badly arranged puzzle, yet it doesn’t matter because it’s complete.”

“I don’t really understand.”

Tony smiles. “You’re fixing me, Steve, piecing me back together. All the times you’ve taken my hand when I’ve woken from a nightmare, or kissed me when I’ve had an attack, my heart kept beating, stronger and faster. I’m a puzzle that’s nearly complete.”

“Does this mean—?”

“Yes,” Tony answers, his smile growing wider. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He kisses him again, for seconds, minutes, he doesn’t care. “You’re sure?”

“Why? Having second thoughts?”

“Definitely not.”

“Good, cause I didn’t just get convinced into a prison sentence—I mean beautiful, wonderful marriage for you to change your mind.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Prison sentence? Trust me, if it was any remotely related to prison, you wouldn’t have—” He takes out the ring, holding it out to him. “—this on your finger.”

“You’re right, it’d be stolen within a few seconds of entering the premises.” He inspects it, lightly brushing his thumb over the band. “How’d you get this? It’s—it’s amazing.”

“I know a guy.”

“Bruce?”

“Yeah, kind of obvious, I guess.”

“You’re forgetting someone.”

“Am I?” Steve frowns. “Uh, no, don’t think so.”

“Y'know, I deserve credit for creating both materials.”

Slipping the ring onto Tony’s finger, Steve kisses the band—he doesn’t know exactly why, but maybe it’s a secureness, to seal the acceptance—and murmurs, “I love you, just so you know, okay? I will always love you.”

And he can see the same feeling he had when holding the ring. It’s a sense of protection and love it secures, a representation of themselves, with a half of Steve and half of Tony, and it feels so bizarre to have finally done this, after such a painful confession, but it’s great, a glorious feeling that courses through his veins that the worries he had before vanish.

Sure, thing like this will happen in the future, expectedly or leap up out of the blue, but they’re a team. They’ll fight over how unhealthy it is for Tony to stay up most of the night, the number of punching bags Steve breaks, or who is rewarded with the last word, but without those arguments, without the bumps in the road, they wouldn’t have made it where they are now. Together. Engaged. And Steve is thankful, as ridiculous as it sounds, for the bad moments, as it strengthens their relationship, makes them realise the details about each other that they haven’t in the past.

“I know. I love you, too.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Probably should say it more often if you have to ask.”

Steve shakes his head. “You don’t need to. I’m sorry for earlier—”

“Hey, don’t apologise. I’m a guy getting over commitment issues. I’d be the same.”

“Move on?”

“Forgotten.”

Linking their hands together, Steve rubs over the ring, his stomach fluttering. “I’m impressed with your metaphors, by the way.”

“Lots more where that came from.” Tony pecks his lips, smiling. “The rest of our lives, and all.”


End file.
